


To Wait Alone

by 9_of_Clubs



Series: In the Years to Come [2]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Future Fic, Loneliness, M/M, Nostalgia, Reunions, hopeful
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-07
Updated: 2014-06-07
Packaged: 2018-02-03 18:53:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1754587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/9_of_Clubs/pseuds/9_of_Clubs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My son says.” He tilts his head, finding the outline of the child in near distance, affection curling around his tongue. “that there is a man who waits here, now and again.” <br/>--<br/>In the universe of <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/1751327">Of Wanting and Waiting</a> but can be read alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Wait Alone

It is deep summer now, the air heavy and perfumed, and the late evening breeze rifles silently around as he approaches. The shrieking children and their too fussy parents have all gone home, but his own son still laughs in the grass, content with the games his own imagination plays. The best time of day.

He sits wordlessly on the bench when he reaches it, doesn’t turn his head to look at the other occupant, knows him without needing to. 

“My son says.” He tilts his head, finding the outline of the child in near distance, affection curling around his tongue. “that there is a man who waits here, now and again.” His lips curve up slightly, sadly, maybe, the dimming light slanting across his cheeks. “He told me, we should sit together, because I’m waiting too.” A laugh huffs from his lips, the man beside him still as stone, unmoving, but listening, undoubtedly. “And it’s no fun to wait alone.” 

An intake of breath comes with the words, and though he doesn’t look, Will can imagine the way Hannibal’s eyes have shut, breathing in the moment, finding beauty and melodies in the intricacies of its ache, in the curves of old scars and the jagged edges of still open wounds...In desire so powerful it overwhelms time and absence, colors morality grey with something greater. 

“A wise child.” The response comes finally, flutters into the wind, barely audible, but with all the gravity of a bated breath. 

Will nods, lets his eyes slide slightly and then reaches out, curves his fingers around Hannibal’s wrist, where it lies on the other’s lap, presses into the solidity of flesh and bone. “More fun still, to wait no longer.” He offers, and his fingers shift with the hand, maybe he pulls, maybe Hannibal pushes, but their connection lands in the space between them, eliminating it. 

In the end, they simply sit silently, no more words exchanged, the happy jabbering of a child, a bright smile sent in their direction, mixing with the chirps of evening birds and the humming of the park lights as they light, filling the easy quiet. 

By the time the sky is dark, the bench sits empty. Only it waits still, to be occupied again.


End file.
